THE WORK OF A CHAPLAIN IN THE FIELD
In the care of an army on active service the most complete arrangements
exist for every requirement of the soldier. As far as possible nothing
is omitted that will conduce to his comfort, well-being and usefulness.
His food is, as we have already seen, most scientifically
devised.
His equipment is adjusted on the most anatomical principles.
His arms are the most up to date that science and money can
provide.
His medical and surgical supplies are the most perfect that
science can apply.
And not least, his spiritual needs are increasingly well
attended to. There are over six hundred chaplains now in
the field.
Many people have queer notions as to the methods and objects of a
chaplain's work. Some years ago I was on my way to conduct a Mission in
Yorkshire, when I happened to meet an R.A.M.C. friend. On my telling him
of the errand upon which I was bound, he expressed some surprise, and
displayed complete ignorance as to the character of my intending duty.
Accordingly I endeavoured to remove his ignorance by establishing a
parallel between his work and mine. I pointed out that in the visitation
of the hospital wards at Aldershot he doubtless became interested in
his patients, especially any uncommon or obstinate cases, and to these
he would pay especial attention, applying every specific which lay
within his knowledge. In pursuance of my purpose I then proceeded to
point out that a clergyman's work proceeded upon precisely the same
scientific lines. First of all a diagnosis of the difficulties was made,
then the specific was applied, but with this difference; medical science
is again and again beaten by the ignorance of the precise remedy to
apply, even presuming that it has been discovered; whereas the clergyman
sets before his patient the unfailing Christ, Who is sufficient for
every need of sinful man. I left him I hope somewhat enlightened as to
the definite character of a clergyman's ministry. The difficulty of my
friend is much the same as that experienced by a large number of people
as regards the work of a padré in the field. Let me set before you the
different phases of the work which commonly fall within the allotted
sphere of a chaplain's duty at the Front.
To begin with there are now two[4] chaplains appointed to a Brigade (in
the early days of the war there was only one, and he was usually
attached to a Field Ambulance), the one is more particularly responsible
for the active men of the Brigade, whilst the other works with the Field
Ambulance. (Each Brigade consists of from three to five thousand men and
has a Field Ambulance attached to it.)
(1) As occasion offers church parades are held, to which the
attendance is compulsory. But many a time the padré will
arrange voluntary services of the most informal character;
in barns, in a wood, sometimes in the reserve trenches. The
chaplain, by order, has no right in the firing trenches
except on urgent duties: such as ministering to the men, or
conducting funerals.
(2) Men who are communicants greatly value the Means of Grace,
and possibly the great sacrament of the Lord's Supper is
never administered under more remarkable circumstances than
at the Front. At times the setting of the service is of the
very crudest form, but none the less it is highly prized. I
know full well the objection that is felt by some clergy to
Evening Communion, but in the British Expeditionary Force at
times it is absolutely necessary, unless the Church is
prepared to practically excommunicate men for a longer or
shorter period. I may add that personally I have no
sympathy with limiting the Means of Grace instituted by our
Blessed Redeemer to any particular hour of the day, and
certainly the Divine Institution was made after the Last
Supper, or during that meal.
(3) One of the saddest features of the padré's round of duty is
the burial of the dead. Funerals often take place in the
firing line, or immediately behind it, when, of course, the
ceremony is of the very briefest duration. At others the
remains of the brave dead are interred in the nearest
cemetery, but in either case, as far as possible, a cross is
placed on the grave recording the name, number and regiment
of the interred. The visitation of the dying, especially
during a 'push,' entails a great deal of time on the part
of the chaplain. If the dying man is conscious and realizes
his position, there will be the last messages for the loved
ones at home; the disposition of property; the setting right
of some existent wrong; for as the moment of dissolution
approaches, men's minds are usually keenly alive to the
urgency of the position.
(4) One of the most harrowing duties is ministering to the
wounded, especially in the Field Dressing Station of an
Ambulance, where the men are first attended to after being
brought in from the field. Their condition is often
indescribable, and opportunities of a word of comfort
abound. Even as a man lies upon the table, his wounds being
probed and dressed, the Message of God, coupled sometimes
with so material a solace as the placing of a cigarette
between the lips of the sufferer, will help him to bear his
agony. In Casualty Clearing and Base Hospitals there are, of
course, always a number of sick to be visited, and this work
falls within the region of ordinary civilian hospital work.
In many cases where a man is first hit and he is not in a
too collapsed condition, his first thought is of home; and a
painful anxiety is often evinced by the sufferer to get a
message through, describing his condition, before his name
appears in the casualty list; for, unhappily, no distinction
is made in the published lists between slight and serious
cases.
(5) All this involves a large amount of correspondence on the
part of the chaplain, and there are busy times when a
'scrap' is proceeding. Every spare moment is occupied with
writing letters for those who are unable to do so
themselves. On the top of all his other work the padré is
constantly receiving letters from home, asking him as to the
whereabouts of this or that man, who may be dead, wounded or
missing; and this phase of the work of itself takes up a
great deal of time.
(6) A not unimportant duty which falls to a chaplain's lot is
the recreation of the men, and if he is a good sort he will
endeavour, during periods of rest, to enliven the lot of his
men with sing-songs, boxing competitions, football matches,
athletic sports, etc., etc.--anything to buck up the men and
keep them cheery. In addition to this, many nondescript
duties fall to the chaplain's lot. Sometimes he is mess
president, and that will give him an anxious half hour. The
solicitude of a young wife who asked a matron of mature
experience as to the best method of keeping the affection of
her husband and preserving his interest in the home, was
answered by, 'Feed the brute.' A mess president knows to the
full what this means. The padré will sometimes have
difficult and perchance dangerous work allotted to him, such
as carrying messages under fire, or tending wounded men in
exposed places. He must also be prepared to lend a hand in
carrying the wounded; and, in short, render himself as
useful as possible, and thus prove himself a friend of
officer and man.
The question is often asked, 'Should a chaplain be under fire?' It is
impossible to avoid it if he is serving troops under fire, and he must
take his chance with every one else. Many times I have been asked, 'Were
you afraid?' I am only a normal person, not conspicuous for undue pluck
on the one hand, or, I hope, undue funk on the other, but I never got
over my fear; of course one grew accustomed to the deadly visitants
which were constantly in our midst. After all, if there is no fear,
there is no courage. I sometimes hear of men, of whom it is said, 'They
do not know what fear is.' Well, if that is so, such an individual is
devoid of courage, for the very essence of courage consists in the
appreciation of fear, and a persistence in duty notwithstanding. Doctor
Johnson was passing through a cathedral when he noticed a tomb on which
was written, 'Here lies the body of a man who never knew fear.' 'Then,'
said the witty Doctor, 'he never tried to snuff a lighted candle with
his fingers.' General Gordon has told us that he was always subject to
fear. 'For my part,' he once said, 'I am always frightened and very much
so.' And yet no one in history has a reputation more honestly earned for
this real kind of courage, a courage won by personal victory over fear.
Herein lies the essence of the experience of the vast majority of our
men; fearing fire, and loathing it as they do, they yet 'stick' it,
because it is their duty.
It is astonishing how soon one grows accustomed to death at the Front.
It cannot well be otherwise; the man you have been chatting to five
minutes before is presently borne along dead. The officer who was the
life and soul of the mess on the previous night, in some ruined
farmhouse, is gone before the morning; and as a man well put it, 'Dying
men out here are as common as falling leaves in autumn.'
The religious atmosphere at the Front is unique. I can hardly say that
there is what one may term a general turning to God, but certainly the
realization of the nearness of God and eternity are very present to most
men's minds. As a man said up at the Front, 'Out here every man puts up
some kind of a prayer every night.' The superficial scepticism which is
so largely ethical, or the result of indifference, and which is assumed
by many men in England, has no hold at the Front. One of our best known
Bishops was telling me when I met him 'somewhere in France' that a short
time back he was about to conduct a service in a hospital ward, in his
own city, and upon handing a hymn-book to one of the patients lying in
bed, he was met with, 'Thank you, I would rather not, I am an agnostic'
Hearing this, the man in the next bed raised himself up on his elbow,
and looking at the objector, tersely remarked, 'You silly young fool, a
week at the trenches would take that nonsense out of you.' Undoubtedly
our men are being awakened to the tremendous reality of eternal
verities, and it behoves us to help them all we can. In this respect the
experience of the padré is intensely happy; no work on which he engages
is more fruitful than that of upholding Christ before men who have come
near the end of their earthly course. Said an officer to me--who had
just been brought in badly wounded, and I had written to his wife
assuring her that all was being done to alleviate his suffering and to
effect his recovery (which happily took place)--'Padré, I have been a
wild man all my life, but last night as I lay wounded in the trenches,
for the first time I realized God, and perfect peace came into my
heart.'
A captain in the Guards, badly hit through the lungs with shrapnel,
demanded a good bit of my attention. When he was sent to the Base I
hardly thought that he would survive the journey; however, in due course
he reached England. Some months afterwards I received a letter from his
mother, stating that her boy was slowly climbing back to recovery, and
thanking me for what I had been able to do for him; which was little
enough. At the bottom of the letter was a postscript: 'My darling boy
died at twelve to-day. Just before he passed away he said, "Mother, I am
in perfect peace with God. Give my love to padré."' Those are the kind
of things that make a man thank God for having volunteered to do one's
'bit' in that particular line of life in which he has been placed. No
work is grander than a chaplain's; but I must lay it down as a general
axiom, that no man should undertake this particular kind of work unless
he knows that he is charged with a message from God.
In the Neuve Chapelle dispatch, Sir John French writes: 'I have once
more to remark upon the devotion to duty, courage and contempt of danger
which has characterized the work of the chaplains throughout this
campaign.' The padré's work is not to fight; indeed, he is not armed
(anyhow, he is not allowed to be by the authorities); and certainly one
of the difficulties experienced is to withhold oneself as one sees the
brave lads go to their daring and glorious work.
Ambassador of Christ, you go
Up to the very gates of hell,
Through fog of powder, storm of shell,
To speak your Master's message: 'Lo,
The Prince of Peace is with you still,
His peace be with you, His goodwill.'
It is not small, your priesthood's price
To be a man and yet stand by,
To hold your life while others die,
To bless, not share the sacrifice,
To watch the strife and take no part--
You with the fire at your heart.
W.M. LETTS, in the _Spectator_.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] There are now three appointed to each Brigade.
THE CARE OF THE WOUNDED